


Of Blood that won’t be Washed from White Tower

by Izvin



Series: Of Ghosts and Warriors [1]
Category: Bohatier - Juraj Červenák, Slavic Mythology & Folklore, Былины о Богатыре | Russian Bogatyr Byliny
Genre: Angst, Battle, Bickering, Dealing With Trauma, Enemies, Exorcism, Flashbacks, Former comrades, Fortress, Gen, Harm to Children, Haunting, Identity Issues, Kabbala, Koschei The Deathless (Slavic Mythology & Folklore) - Freeform, Loss of Control, Magic, Monster - Freeform, Poltergeists, Post-Canon, Sarkel/Šarkil, Sins, Snark, Underground, White (Bloody) Tower, bylina, cellar, occultism, sword - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 08:57:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21505270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izvin/pseuds/Izvin
Summary: Juraj Červenák wrote this awesome trilogy Bohatier, in which he mixes myths and history, centered around Kievan Rus, Svjatoslav's conquest and bylinas. It contains compelling journey to vilainhood with meaningful change of name too.This fanfiction picks up from the moment of its end. Main hero got tasked with command of conquered fortress, where he also managed to bring down mage turned demon and here comes my twist - said mage is now ghost haunting it. So how is Ilja going to deal with the situation?
Series: Of Ghosts and Warriors [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1555354
Comments: 13





	1. Drumming

First meeting occurs early in the morning, still before dawn, when he hears drumming and looks from ramparts to the courtyard and sees this guy in a cloak hitting his instrument with a bone there. He runs down to that figure, completely forgetting to be careful with his injured leg because of questions like “Who that is?”, “What is their deal?” and “How for Kostroma’s sake did they show up there out of blue?”. When he reaches mysterious shabby drummer seated on a rock, rhythmic thuds stop and figure lifts their head and from below a cape white face shines and green eyes shine and toothy smirk shines.

"And a commander comes. Again. But different, new one."

"I killed you."

"Yes, you did."

"Am I dreaming?"

"Not as far, as I know. Just seeing a ghost."

"What are you doing here?"

Figure shrugs.

"This was the moment, when it all went wrong."

Figure looks around as if searching for some cue and back at Ilja. Shakes its head. Then disappears into thin air.

Ilja cannot quite believe, what he saw, but he isn't drunk and he doesn't wake up later, so it must have happened.


	2. Breach in wall

Ilja is not inclined to spare any concern for the event until second time happens, after which he asks departing Elazar for the name and whereabouts of the cabalist, whose help he used in defence of White (Bloody) tower, when it was still called Sarkel.

He is sitting in the courtyard, on some building block and sharpening Smerť and thinking of its previous owner, when he smells dust and sand in the air and his ears are filled with sound of cracking stone, screams and swishing blades, except no blades ever sounded like this, only one thing... And he jumps to fighting position never mind still healing leg and looks around. It's all apparition, cause clouds slashed with white light twinkle out of existence, falling rubble too, there is only perfectly orderly construction work waiting to be continued.

Oh and one tall figure in black cloak too. It billows wildly for a little bit longer, then too recognizes, that there is no earthly breeze or supernatural pressure wave and goes limp. Ilja lowers his sword only a bit. The spectre turned towards walls in the process of rebuilding speaks.

"No wonder the repairs are taking so long. Damage reached even foundations. I can feel it there, feel everything..."

"Feeling proud?"

"No."

The reply is terse and Ilja finds it surprising compared to thoughtful tone of previous words.

"This is overwhelming. Like... Like earthquake. Earthquake cannot be controlled."

And there is such objection in figure's inflection, even distress. And it dawns on him that this is about more than just damage to fortification, this is about its source.

"You cannot disown, what you've done here."

The shade turns towards him and the sourness in its pale face can be almost felt on tongue.

"I wish, I could call it my own. It would mean, I wasn't owned."

It turns away again and walks towards heap of building material, then passing from the sight behind it. Ilja runs after black cloth, but once he reaches the corner and scans the area behind, the space is empty. Typical. Puzzling people with weird declarations and disappearances even after death. Ilja grits his teeth and decides to not tolerate such behaviour.


	3. Exorcism

The cabalist is getting all puffed up and blushing from hearing how his service proved to be invaluable and is sought again. It is somewhat amusing and Ilja is glad something is improving his mood. The man descends into esoteric rant as he rushes from spot to spot carrying all kinds of candles, tools, flasks, herbs and other... Things.

"Aye, it can happen that such a profound darkness as that demon is difficult to banish. Requires more than just slaying... But worry not, we will deal with this. Now where did I put sage?"

Ilja points him towards silver green slim leaves on the bench beneath window. When he is done with scribbling of symbols and application of ointments, he puts around his neck a palm-shaped amulet and presents Ilja with similar one.

" _Hamsa_ , crafted in the same fashion as the one, that protected previous commander."

It hangs beside Perun's axe, both smooth gold and cold. He looks at them for a moment.

"Shall we start?"

Cabalist interrupts his reverie cautiously. Ilja looks into his perky eyes and nods.

"Yes."

They stand opposite each other outside the circle drawn by blue chalk, salt and blood of lamb. Spark flies and soon smell of incense fills the quarters. Then wisp of herbs. In swirling smoke cabalist's excitable voice takes on deeper vibrating quality.

"You foul _mazzikim_ , who haunts this fortress, I summon you here to hear the word of Him, Who Is."

The shadows deepen, candle flames bow as if covering in fear, then leap up back. Figure clad in black cloak materializes in the circle. The shape bends slightly down and looks at the drawings with narrowed eyes. Then straightens again and props its chin on the wan fist.

"Very well, entertain me with your god's word. There's little else to pay attention too."

"You are not welcome in this place. Stop defiling it and bothering people, who dwell there."

Spectre turns its head towards Ilja.

"You couldn't have said yourself, could you?"

Ilja wants to roll his eyes, but answers instead.

"You didn't really give me an opportunity."

Green-eyed wraith purses its lips as it ostentatiously scrutinizes the whole chamber and nods contemplatively.

"I suppose this does have more style anyway."

"So glad you appreciate... Now, that you've heard it, will you depart?"

Cloaked ghost sneers.

"Since you went to so much trouble preparing this, I'd like to see your arsenal first. It'd be pity if it went to waste."

Figure twists on its heel back to Jewish man with open palmed posture that is perfectly courtly and also somewhat mocking.

"Please, start."

Cabalist sighs. Why do they have to be difficult so often… He recites passages from protective psalms, invokes angels and waves around scripts with their names, sprinkles holy oil and draws lines of sacred symbols in the air with iron and with silver.

"...May this power rectify your soul and allow you to depart for rest..."

The spirit takes it in with some sort of tension in shoulders and jaw, with expectant gleam in eyes that lit up during each attempt and then fill with shadow over and over.

"Not working."

It remarks inspecting its nails. Short Jew asks Ilja to unsheathe his sword, for it was blessed and repeat the lines with him. On again with psalms and banishing utterance, he goes through long list of addresses, trying new one in each request. And Ilja can feel power in the air, vibrating under his feet, but it all dispels afterwards. The one in black cloak sighs and Ilja can share the sentiment.

"Have you got anything else?"

At that point cabalist brandishes square wooden plank with pyrography of interwoven circles - tree of life and malachite eyes of ghost blaze. Ilja tenses. Shorter man, holding the plate in both hands outstretched in front of himself, proceeds forward as if fighting blizzard. The air does somewhat shiver.

"Be gone!"

One step.

"Not this..."

Dark clad one crouches.

"Be gone!!"

Second step.

"Don't..."

Figure shudders with strain.

"Be gone!!!"

Third step.

Ghost throws its head back, cape falling down, and gives frustrated yowl, that crashes on the ceiling and rains back down, dousing all the candles. Ilja's head whips to sides and he involuntarily steps back, then holding his sword up higher, fixes his sight on wraith again.

Its snarl sounds defeated as it pushes through rippling lines of blue, white and red, which encircle it and once out, coils of smoke wrap around its frame and lit up with white and silver. Ilja opens his mouth in astonishment, his heartbeat quickened and he can hear also cabalist's shriek. Black clad form gets covered in scales, claws spring out and Ilja's breath is sharp as he readies himself to fight, but the creature turns to the entrance of the room instead and charges out. And the trailing white in the air demands "follow" and the two men do.

Citadel is flung into vision of blackness intercepted with white haze and cacophony. Rattling steel and pained cries, blood sprays walls and pools on the ground, shadows form bodies and disperse, when Ilja turns their way. It falters every now and then, but rouses again.

"This has never happened before..."

Laments the cabalist.

"There is first time for everything."

He retorts laconically and focuses on tracking the apparition. They run in confusing directions, but soon the path reveals itself and it goes down. There is vivid pulse of power identical to emanation from seal on wooden board in cabalist's hand accompanied by sweet homely scent wafting from lower floors and Ilja somehow knows it is that of mother and child and cold sweat soaks him.

"Stop this and fuck off!"

He yells. Hissy laughter rebounds through corridors in response. And there is hysteria in it.

"Oh, I wish..."

He spots the ghost around the corner, bent, supporting itself on the wall, back in smaller shrouded form. There are flickers of scales though. Ilja is glad to stop, the leg is making itself known, which manages to vex him some more still, cause this was, how it got wounded in the first place. Cloaked figure looks around, clenched teeth bared, and their eyes meet.

"Do I have to slay you again?"

Green flashes to Smerť gripped in his right hand. The toothy grimace widens. He looks back up.

"Maybe..."

He breathes. They hear the steps of cabalist, who is finally catching up and the pull of seal, the one approaching and the one bellow, strengthens again.

"But not here."

Silver-white coalesces again, wraith straightens and leaps forward. Down into underground. Ilja swears under his breath and continues in the chase.

"Not much further, I promise."

Bellows the ghost from depths almost blithely. And Ilja wishes to strangle him. He knows, for Perun's sake, he was there with him back then. The labyrinth of utter darkness and steep rough stone begs him to fall and break his neck and he can hear thuds and yelps of cabalist lagging behind him.

He reaches the door to the cellar at last and pauses, because they shift, looking like tens of other doors, tens of other dark entrances and it makes his eyes sore. The only fixed element is glare of protective drawing that was the last defence of fleeing family during battle for Sarkel. Waves of anguish and hunger beat on him and the command of cabalistic symbol presses on with weight of worlds. The cabalist arrives too, loudly complaining.

"Bloody haunting... Of all the places this... Hoping for us to give up, or have a mortal accident?"

"I stopped him there back then."

Answers Ilja. It is not just magic all around but also his own memories assaulting him. They've awaken too and now mix with the experience broadcasted by the ghost. He gulps.

"Oh..."

Short Jew sidesteps Ilja and spots the symbol on the door. It is same as the one, he carries.

"Oh..."

Then he breaks into another rant, never mind ominous choking atmosphere.

"I think I am beginning to understand. The seals, the event... Commander quarters were wrong place. This one is right. Maybe we don't even need true name..."

He trails off, looking at bogatyr next to him.

"Oh... You experience those spells differently from me. Perhaps... It will be enough, if you just wait here..."

Then they are interrupted by screams and wails. Ilja grits his teeth.

"No."

He had strength enough for his own curse, he will have strength for spectre's too. And with no more lingering he enters underworld.

It is not a cellar anymore, but a large long shadowy cave, its bottom few feet below spot, on which Ilja stands. Apparitions of Elazar and his wife and daughter are covering in the farthest corner, illuminated by warm light of golden amulet and at the sight the one on Ilja’s neck lights up too.

Way to them leads through serried crowd of hundreds though. In small groups they clutch and shield each other or try to run seemingly unaware of other clusters. Crying in helpless fear and agony with no way to escape. The sound rises in visible malevolent waves and crashes with leaden weigh of utter despair. Men, women, children... So many children. Ilja recognizes tear streaked face of six years old girl from that terrible night in Semender.

Understanding hits him like a clawed punch into stomach and he can feel sting of furious tears. Victims. All of them are victims of monster, whose ghost he chases. Ghost who is slashing its way through them even now. No, not a way. Each of them, one by one, or by two and three. Silver-white sickle casting merciless light on bloody mess, it makes of human field, on precious scarlet pouring down its body and throat. Has to slaughter everyone, just like during life, before it reaches the family of the man that tricked its living self.

"Heavens..."

Whispers cabalist, who followed in Ilja‘s footsteps.

"Halt, in Lord’s name, you wretch!"

He shouts in outrage. Green-eyed figure turns towards them, knee deep in carnage, clawed arms spread, manic expression and forlorn eyes.

"Halt? That’s what you are here for!"

Not waiting for answer, spectre whirls back to continue in the butchery, wildly graceful and incredibly brutal. Compulsive strikes and devouring. Ilja doesn’t need more prompting and runs down. He notices, how uneven floor of cave is filling with black muck, right in front of his eyes spilled blood blackens and bodily remains dissolve into thick oily liquid. It is tempestuous, joining with the sound of human suffering, gathering at the walls and rushing towards bright figure ploughing through bodies and rising flood. They stop, where it sploshes against their shoes.

You are drowning yourself!"

He screams after scaly creature.

"Observant as always, Ilja! I am afraid, there’s nothing you can do! Not then and therefore not now!"

This time he doesn’t even turn, only fights through with increasing difficulty and determination. Something in Ilja boils over.

"Watch me!"

Indifferent towards scared protests of cabalist, holding his sword up, he jumps into black waters. And they part. Ilja’s eyebrows rise is surprise. He hears excited exclamation from above and then sound of running feet. He starts running too, towards murderous apparition. Ghost is just fathom from final family and spitting out black filth, when dry path in Ilja’s wake reaches it. It drops to its knees, coughs for a moment and looks around in astonishment until its sight rests on advancing Ilja.

"You did it."

"And now it is time for this to end."

Wraith rises from the ground.

"No, now it is time for the hardest part."

It looks a bit like being torn apart and screaming in pain, when cold white with two malachite points flares up, claws and bright tendrils lengthening. It is blinding and Ilja has to narrow his eyes and brace himself against pressure wave. The amulet on his neck vibrates, but same one wasn’t enough to protect Elazar and his girls, who ended needing other help. The sword he lifts might be blessed, but is not a divine one from Perun’s forge, he had to sacrifice in the final battle.

He attacks with roar.

He is deflected, hitting cave ground hard. Whipping force tastes beastly and leaves him feeling, as if he himself was one, gasping for air and his sense of self.

“Do you feel it? The power reigning here! In its source! Can you defeat that?”

Many-voiced unearthly shout rings in his ears, but he is on his feet again, easier than expected.

“You are a ghost! This is a mere dream of power I already defeated!”

He strikes at glowing shape again, contagious emotions be damned. This time surprisingly solid claws catch the blade he wields, lock it along with hands holding it and drag him down. If he resisted, he would get cut. Sharply green points bent towards him, so close, he is making out outlines of raw-boned face.

“Its roots are real.”

The other clawed hand rises, but instead of striking Ilja, it reaches towards people fearfully pressed in the corner. Man moans in helpless despair, woman weeps, but the most piercing is terrified shriek of girl. Ilja growls in fury at this taunting. A trembling whisper, one that sounds more like wraith in cloak.

“Yes, I dare you to stop this…”

“Roots shall be cut and burnt then too!”

In approaching gentle amber glow painful luminosity weakens and steely clutch becomes softer too. Ilja doesn’t turn his head towards arriving cabalist, works instead on freeing himself, while spectre looks over his head at the other man.

“Ten sephirots and twentytwo paths, totality of world and His will are there to cut them and exorcise you!”

Fangs bared.

“Then cut!”

Ilja dislodges his arms and weapon, jumps feeling the golden pulse of living rightful world power him and hits. Everything drops into mad swirl of black, white, silver and gold with no up and down, exploding and collapsing on itself all at once and tearing at him like teeth, the only anchor Smerť in his grasp and malachite howl beneath.

“Cut!!!”

And he does.

They hit ground of perfectly ordinary cellar and shaken Ilja keeps stabbing and chopping the shade under him. It is only cabalist’s voice that stops him.

“Enough! It’s not working!”

He slowly freezes. Looks at the short Jew with pyro-graphed glowing plank and back at wraith on the ground. All the wounds are closing with sickening sounds. And so he lets them and sits back rather miserably. They stopped that nightmarish vision, but what did actually change? Sickened laugh erupting from ghost on the ground doesn’t help. Then it breaks, followed by angry smashing of head against stone floor, he lies on. The audible crack makes even cabalist and bogatyr wince. Ilja frowns and short man asks:

“What? You’re not satisfied?”

“What can I say?”

Spectre lilts and starts getting up with surprising amount of struggle. In the glow of seal it all looks rather disturbing.

“All this magic, all the provoked rage and determination to cast me out… Not enough. Well, I suppose you can go home now.”

Ilja flings his sword on the ground with jarring clang, that makes the jew jump and dark clad one break out of its ramble and focuses on him.

"No!”

He lifts himself too.

“You will explain.”

Moves to the pallid shape and gestures with his hand aggressively.

“Why all this?!"

Something in that drawn face cracks.

"I don't know! I didn't choose this! And what I did choose, was not what I got! Strung along for a ride and stuck in that whirlpool afterwards..."

Shaky with wrath and grief and even a bit of sardonicism, its downcast glare searing. Cabalist is taking audible breath probably to ask something, but Ilja lifts a hand to silence him.

"And it's my fault, that I got played, I know. I allowed it to take over me, possess me, escape into the world. I didn't even really put up fight. So stupidly blinded… Change of perspective brought by death was quite an eye-opener."

Ghost lifts its head and green eyes hang onto Ilja as if for dear life.

"The thing is, I don't know, what to do about it, how to break out."

Ilja can feel his indignation being washed away.

"I tried... I walked out east and west, north and south... Jumped into current of Don... Only to find myself back in this cell, drowning in black pitch. And the silver screech of that dragon scale. It isn't Zirnitra's song anymore. It hasn't been since return from Buyan. And I didn't realize that until..."

Spectre chokes. Ilja remembers one of the things, the cabalist spoke about and hesitates for a bit, but then tries.

"Volch...?"

Stillness falls over dark clad figure upon hearing a name of the man, it used to be.

"No. He'd never agree to this. He would sooner die. And he did. I must have killed him then."

Malachite eyes meet his own and speak of inevitability.

"You know, who I am."

Dead certainty of the claim is terribly clarifying. A captive, slave... Of memory from Kokshaga prison, dragon force, blame and of this place. And Ilja isn't entirely sure if that loud thought is his own, but it hooks deep and undeniable like set in stone.

He has to bow his head in agreement and cement all of this instead of ridding them of their trouble. There is nothing else to do.

"Yes, Koščej."

He speaks aloud the true name of the dead man in front of him and the fate hidden within. Seal darkens with finality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I wanted to indulge myself with giving him epiphany and path out of vilainhood. I wanted him to grieve his fall as I did.  
> Also, this might require book lore - word Koščej is supposed to mean "captive, slave". Our mage choose it rather defiantly after imprisonment in Kokšaga and it wasn't taken well by others along with change in his personality and I decided to give it new spin in his ghostly existence.


End file.
